TMNT - Force of Habit
by The Duelist of the Rose
Summary: After an argument with Donnie about the phone, Mike goes topside to get dinner and runs into a paramilitary group who've been hired to capture "the animal." Intrigued by the Daily News 'Ninja Rap' stars, rich Mr. Adelton takes possession of Michelangelo and brings in a fascinated Dr. Victor Falco for consultation. Only Mike's brothers can save him but only Keno knows what happened!
1. Target Acquired

**Hi! Welcome to my second TMNT fanfic "_Force of Habit_!" My first was "_Unlinked Chain_!"**

**All my stories are written from the TMNT movie-verse, which is why the turtles don't have t-phones/shell cells/turtle coms in this tale, because they don't have them in the movies. ^^; I'm bringing in a character from the 2k12-Nick series, one Dr. Victor Falco; he has not met the turtles before because he is now in the movie-verse and his backstory and introduction are naturally a bit different.**

**My story is rated for Violence and Angst. Please enjoy what follows! ^^**

* * *

**-TMNT-**

**Force of Habit**

**Chapter 1: Target Acquired**

Don tapped on the phone's hookswitch and frowned – the line was dead. "Wha–?" He looked at the old pay-phone in shock and tapped the switch faster.

"What's the matter?" asked Mikey, sitting up in his chair at the dinner table.

"The phone–!" exclaimed Donnie, angrily setting the receiver back on its hook, "It's broken again!"

Mikey's features melted into a visage of horror. "What? But I thought you just fixed it!"

"I did!" snapped Donatello, looking around for his toolkit.

Mikey almost started. "But Don–! What about the pizza?! How're we gonna call it in?!"

Don sighed in exasperation as he crouched beside his open toolkit. "_Obviously_ I'm gonna have to fix the phone."

"But that could take hours!" whined Michelangelo, "_Dude!_ It's already dinnertime! I'm hungry NOW."

Don's fist tightened around his wrench and he rose, spinning to face his brother. "LOOK Mikey!" he snapped, shaking the tool in Mike's direction, "If you can't bring yourself to have just a little patience and wait while I repair the phone, then why don't you just go topside and get the pizza yourself!" Donatello stared angrily, waiting for Michelangelo to say something.

Mikey frowned. "Fine then!" he snuffed and rose from the table, "I will!" He left the kitchen and went straight into his room.

Don snorted and returned to his tools. In the dojo, Raph and Leo shrugged to one another; they'd both paused at the sound of their little brothers' upraised voices, but quickly recommenced sparring when the shouting stopped.

A minute later Michelangelo emerged from his room wearing a big black hoodie, baggy and long enough to cover his whole shell; only his green legs were showing. He headed right for the stairs that led up and out.

"Yeah!" he suddenly barked in Donnie's direction, "_I'll_ go get the pizza! And we'll see if I bring back any for you!"

The screw Don had been trying to get in position slipped suddenly from its mooring and tumbled to the floor; angrily the purple-masked turtle spun towards the stairs. "OH _that's_ real mature Mikey! Considering I'm the one doing all the _work_ around here!"

"Whatever!" shrilled Mike, hustling up the steps and up to the brick wall that split to each side as he passed through; the wall shut behind him. Donatello grumbled as he turned back to the payphone, and sighed as he bent, looking around on the floor for the lost screw.

"Donnie," came Leo's voice as he and Raph emerged from the dojo, their skin shiny with sweat, "What was all of _that_? What's going on?"

Donatello found the screw, and stood, turning to Leo as he approached. "Mikey's stupid stomach is bigger than his brain."

* * *

The hard scrape of metal against pavement issued forth as Mikey pushed the manhole cover aside. The young turtle lifted his head into the night air of the city, and looked around; another dirty back alley, but it was the right one.

Mikey smiled and hopped out of the hole. He slid the heavy metal cover back but didn't set it in place, leaving instead an inch of space so he could easily move it away when he came back.

Standing, Mikey proceeded to straighten his hoodie; he pulled its hood as far down around his face as he could, then his eyes suddenly widened. "Oh _shell_..!" he spat, quickly reaching into his pockets; they were empty. He patted around his belt, and then palmed his face with a smack. "Oh doof! I forgot the money!"

Michelangelo rolled his eyes, lolling his head from side-to-side as he briefly considered returning to the Lair; he shook his head. 'Nah,' he thought, 'Can't do that.' He shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed through his nose; what to do? He tapped his wrapped foot against the cracked pavement.

After a moment of thought, his face suddenly brightened. With a mischievous grin he turned toward the backdoor of Roy's Pizza parlor, and casually approached as he'd intended to do from the beginning. He gave the door three hard knocks, quickly remembering to adjust the hood around his face.

The door opened, and a large man wiping his hands on a grimy towel frowned out at the hooded figure standing before him. "Yeah?" he groaned, "_Heh_, don't tell me: you're here to see Keno again?"

Mike quickly cleared his throat while also trying to keep his head down. "Yeah." he answered, attempting to make his voice sound gruff and deep.

"_Ch_," said the man, briefly shutting the door as he turned to shout through the kitchen, "Hey Keno! That weird guy in the green mask and tights is back!"

Mikey blinked, scuffing his foot against ground as he waited; he could hear muffled voices and hurried footsteps. The door came open again and the surprised face of Keno was there; he quickly stepped out to join the turtle.

"Mike!" said he, looking around, "What're you doing here?"

Mikey gave the human a very sheepish smile. "Simple answer? _Hungry_ dude."

Keno frowned confusedly. "So why didn't you just call it in? You know I would've been happy to bring it to you!"

The orange-masked turtle puffed out a sigh. "Phone's broken."

"What? _Again_? I thought Don just fixed that."

Mikey frowned. "The fix didn't _stick_." he grumbled

"Oh." the pizza deliverer nodded in understanding. There was a mutual pause; then Keno spoke up again. "So, what? The usual?"

Mikey nodded excitedly. Keno smiled and held his hand out; Michelangelo sweat-dropped at the sight of the open palm. "_Uhh_," he said, nervously tapping the ends of his pointer fingers together, "Here's the thing. I didn't bring any money with me." Keno's eyes widened. "So I was hoping you could, like, maybe give us a couple of pizzas, and then we could, you know, pay you back later?"

"Mike!" huffed Keno, "_What_? I can't–!"

"_Please_!" entreated Mikey, giving the young human his best puppy-dog face, "Please! You know we'll pay you back! I just didn't bring any money this time. Please man, _pleeease!_ I'm SO hungry!"

Keno stared for a moment, ultimately growling in defeat. "_Argh_! I can't believe I'm going to _agree_ to this."

"Yay!" celebrated Mikey, giving a happy hop. He did a little dance, the hood of his baggy hoodie slipping off the back of his smooth head.

Keno was about to go back into the parlor when he suddenly turned back. "But you better make sure I get that money!" he barked, pointing a rigid finger at the turtle.

Mikey gave a thumbs up. "It's guaranteed dude!" And he winked. Keno gave an exasperated sigh, and went back inside. "Mmhmm!" Mikey hummed, eagerly rubbing his green-skinned hands together. He licked his lips as he envisioned the steamy hot-n-ready pizzas with their gooey cheese and tasty toppings.

He turned, looking around for a place to sit while he waited. There was a battered lump of a trash can up against the opposing wall, and it was on _this_ that Mike plunked himself to wait. He suddenly pulled his hood back up over his head, giving a momentary glance around to make sure no one had seen him.

Cars were passing by in the open street beyond, even a few pedestrians on the sidewalk, but none noticed him. Mikey smiled and leaned back against the wall. For a moment he idly hummed a show-tune before his stomach abruptly growled; Mike's expression soured. He glanced over at the door, wishing it would open – but it didn't, so he sighed and leaned forward to look at the ground; the pavement was stained and cracking.

Mikey gave a wry smile. "Gotta love New York," he mumbled. That's when he felt something tingled across his senses—his eyes widened. There was a rush of air—

And Mikey sat bolt upright just as a man swung down a telescoping baton, right where his head had been. There was a crackle and a spark as the end of the baton came into contact with the ground. Mike's eyes widened: it was an electric stun baton!

The man swung it out at Michelangelo as the turtle sprang away. Doing a backward flip, Mikey landed further down the alley. He crouched forward, legs slightly bent, his weight resting on the balls of his feet; with the tips of his fingers touching the ground, he looked up at the man.

'Is it the Foot?' wondered Mike. But the man was decked out in gray and khaki green with gear strapped to his vest and around his thighs; he looked nothing like a Foot Soldier, especially wearing a dark cap and a strange metal breather-mask over his nose and mouth. 'Purple Dragon?' was Mikey's next thought.

The turtle suddenly tensed; he had been hit from behind by his sensei's staff enough times over the years to know when a strike like that was coming. Mike instantly jerked to the side as another man with a stun baton swept passed. This man was bigger than the first, and he aggressively rounded on the turtle, slinging the buzzing baton back and forth. It was obvious the man had had some kind of combat training for his swings weren't wild or loose, but very well-aimed with force behind each strike.

'_Not_ a Purple Dragon.' thought Michelangelo, managing to avoid each and every blow. Of course it didn't really matter what kind of training the guy had undergone, because no training could rival that which one received from a mutated sewer rat.

Mikey could see from the man's face that he was swiftly becoming frustrated at not being able to tag the turtle. Mike had seen that same look on Raph's face hundreds of times, and he knew that if the man wasn't disciplined enough to keep his tempter in check, that he'd soon leave himself wide open.

This moment came sooner than Mikey expected. The man raised the baton high over his head, and lunged toward the mutant turtle. Mikey grinned. The man swung his weapon down at Michelangelo, but Mike caught the man's arm and turned, launching his attacker into the alley trash cans with an expert hip throw.

This cued the first man to come forward again; Mikey turned as this man charged at him. The man aimed low, trying to tag Mikey's legs with his baton; his movements came faster this time, his aim now more precise. But Mike had an idea.

With a mighty spring, the turtle jumped backward, yanking off his hoodie and threw it at the man's face. The man knocked the garment aside, but in that same second, Mike launched into the man's gear-laden chest with a fierce kick. The man sailed back, landing among the pizza boxes discarded in the alley.

Already the bigger, more aggressive man was on his feet; he was staring at Michelangelo angrily. He could see the turtle fully now that the hoodie was gone.

Mikey reached into his belt, and pulled out his nunchakus. He knew he shouldn't touch the stun batons with his chucks because he remembered Donatello saying something about metal conducting electricity. But, as the first man rose to join the second, Michelangelo began swinging his chucks around in a show of force and skill. 'Hopefully I can scare them off.' he thought.

Then there was a sound like a gunshot, and Mikey yelped as his left nunchuck sparked and went flying from his hand. The chuck hit the ground, buzzing with electricity.

Mike's gaze swung up to the rooftop of the opposing building, where he sighted the outline of a sniper against the dark sky. He jerked back as another sparking bullet whizzed past. It lodged itself in Roy's back wall, shooting out electric sparks.

'They've got electric bullets too?!' Mikey's face creased, and he turned tail as the other two charged at him in tangent. He leapt over the manhole he'd come up through and ran, because there'd be _no_ way for him to move the cover and get down the hole before the men would lay their batons across his back.

He skidded 'round the corner only to find the flat face of a compact military-grade semi-truck blocking his path. Its lights flashed on, forcing the young turtle to shield his eyes. Heart pounding Mike spun away, wincing inwardly as another shockround bullet whizzed past his head.

The two men with the stun batons came racing towards him. Mikey gritted his teeth and shoved his remaining chuck into his belt. He turned, charging towards the wall of the pizza parlor, pouring all the strength he could muster into his legs. Mike sprang up against the wall and leapt out, flying clean over the men's heads.

He landed, awkwardly, but unharmed, and raced back into the alley behind the parlor. Michelangelo reeled to a stop — more men in gray and khaki were there blocking his path; they leveled their guns on him.

Mikey's face creased with fear and panic, his eyes darting left and right; there was nowhere else to run in the 'L' shaped alley. Down one side the baton men were coming, the truck at their backs, while down the other side were five other men armed with shoulder-fired net cannons and more guns loaded with shockrounds.

Mikey began backing away, grimacing as he glanced upward; the sniper was still there, and another was now atop the parlor roof. They had him utterly surrounded.

'_Wha'do I do?_ Wha'do I do?!' It took no effort at all for Michelangelo to wish his brothers were there; he didn't want to handle the situation alone anymore, and was seriously beginning to doubt he actually could. 'Leo would be coming up with a plan right about _now_. And we'd all be kicking major butt!'

Then, all at once, the men halted their advance. Having just been backed up against the alley wall, Mikey blinked in confused worry. He couldn't know that inside the semi-truck, the ops leader had just ordered them to wait. The man, with his nicely trimmed beard, tapped a button on the communicator in his ear.

"Yes," he said, after a brief pause, "We have the animal cornered. How do you want us to proceed?" There was another pause.

Mikey's eyes widened as he spotted some movement in the rear alley, beyond the five men. The turtle clenched his teeth, for the backdoor to the parlor had just opened; Keno had just stepped out to keep Mike company while the pizzas were baking.

Keno's eyes widened at the startling sight before him. Mike tensed severely but managed to get Keno's attention before the young man drew attention to himself. The roof snipers thought it was strange when Mikey suddenly pointed up at them.

Keno quickly looked up. That's when Michelangelo dramatically waved his arm in a sweeping motion away from himself, signaling for Keno to go back inside. Keno saw the men turning in his direction and managed to duck back inside just in time.

"Roger that." said the ops commander, still in the truck; he tapped off his com. "Alright," he said into the on-board mic in the truck dash, "Orders are as before. The animal is not to be harmed. We're to subdue it, and bring it in."

"Copy that." Mikey heard the foremost man with the gun say. 'Here it comes!' he thought to himself, 'I've only got one shot!' He could feel the tension rising around him as the men's fingers tighten around their triggers.

–—–

Keno was breathing quickly, his brow creased in stark puzzlement. "Wha–?" He couldn't quite wrap his mind around what he'd just seen. He was about to open the door again when Roy called over to him.

"Hey Keno!" he shouted, plunking down a stack of pizzas, "We got an order called in! You gotta get these over to Bleecker Street ASAP!"

"What? But, I—!" Keno glanced at the door.

–—–

In the blink of an eye the ops men fired their shockrounds, but Michelangelo had already launched himself toward the truck. The men with batons were caught off guard and didn't have time to react as Mikey dropped to the ground, sliding passed their legs and underneath the truck.

"It's under the truck! It's under the truck!" sounded the head gunman; he dropped low, peering at the turtle through his gun-scope.

"Well don't fire under the truck!" commanded the ops leader, turning from the cab.

Mikey shimmied forward, low-crawling with such speed any boot camp sergeant would've been proud. Unfortunately, Mikey didn't know the ops leader had moved into the back of the small semi, and was opening the rear door. So when Mike came passed the rear tires and raised his head, it was a shock in more ways than one when the commander reached down, jabbing a two-pronged taser into the back of his neck.

Michelangelo shrieked, the sensation of a million needles sweeping through his body. The ops leader held the charge against Mike's skin for over three seconds before finally pulling it away. Mikey collapsed, limp and dazed against the ground.

"Quick!" the commander called to the man in the cab, "Drive forward!" He hopped out the back as the semi rolled forward; the driver stopped at the end of the alley, opening a door in the semi's side that allowed the men from the rear alley to file in. The snipers were quick to join the rest of the crew, having swiftly abseiled down onto the top of the truck and entered through the roof-hatch.

Several men jumped out to join their ops leader who'd grabbed the turtle's arms and was dragging him towards the truck. "Get the ramp down!" he shouted.

One of the men ran back, slapping a button along the side wall of the truck; a ramp extended out from above the rear bumper. As soon as it touched ground, the commander and his crew got Michelangelo up into the back of the semi.

'No! No!' cried Mikey, from his mind; he knew what was happening, and it terrified him. 'Leo! Raph! _Donnie_!' he thought wildly, as the men set him upon the cold metal floor. 'Help me! Please!'

The rear access of the truck was closed and sealed with a magnetic lock. The semi backed out of the alley, and joined the steady stream of traffic heading out of New York City.

* * *

**Author Notes:**

**Ahhhh! Mikey! D8 H-he's been abducted to parts unknown! But WHY? And what is Keno gonna do next?**

**Oh yes, and in case you were wondering why I made reference to the Purple Dragons when I said this story takes place in the movie-verse - it's because in the storyline of the TMNT PS2 video game, which is an extension of the 2k7 TMNT Imagi movie, the turtles actually fight the Purple Dragons SEVERAL times. ^^;**

**Stay tuned for Chap 2!**


	2. Special Delivery

**Howdy! Welcome to Chapter 2! ****Do enjoy what follows! XD**

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**Chapter 2: Special Delivery**

"_Okay_! I will! Just a minute!" shouted Keno, and burst out through the back door into the alley. He took a quick breath in and out, and frowned: the alley was empty. He spun, looking around before turning back toward the last place he'd seen the orange-masked turtle.

Darting down the length of the alley, Keno stopped at the end and peered down the side alley to the street beyond; like always, cars were driving passed. "Mike!" he called loudly, looking up and around at all the surrounding rooftops. Keno frowned confusedly, briefly putting his hand against his head. "Was he–?" 'Did he just get—?'

"HEY!" barked Roy from the back door, "What in the _puke_ are you doing Keno?!"

Keno turned towards his boss. "My friend, he— I was just looking for him..!"

"_Yeah_? Well I got news for you! I don't care about your stupid friends! If those pizzas in there don't make it to Bleecker in under 30 minutes, I'm gonna lose money. And _you're_ gonna lose your job!"

"_Okay_!" sounded Keno, raising his hands in surrender. He hurried passed his boss and into the parlor. He grabbed the insulated delivery bag from off the counter, and dashed out through the front door to the curb. He set the pizzas in the rear-cradle of the same white scooter he'd been driving for years, and looked over at Roy who had just appeared in the parlor's doorway.

"Man!" Keno called over, as he straddled the little motor bike, "When are you going to get me something new to ride? I've been delivering on this same Vespa since I started working here!" He started the bike.

"Ah!" said Roy, swatting a hand in Keno's direction, "Quite acting like a punk and get going."

Keno and Roy gave each other snarky smiles, and Keno rode away. As soon as he was down the street, young Keno reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone; he flipped it open, eyes darting back and forth between the road and his screen. The turtles were number three on his speed-dial.

He stopped at the light and put the phone to his ear; it rang, and rang. "Come on guys, come on! Pick up! _Pick up!_"

Eventually a voice came on the line: "We're sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected—"

Keno's eyes widened just as the traffic light turned green. 'That's right!' he realized, feeling like an idiot, 'Mike told me their phone had gone on the fritz again!'

A car honked at him. Keno snapped his phone shut, and stuffed it back in his pocket. He pulled back on the throttle, and the little Vespa zoomed forward. 'But what happened to Mike?' wondered Keno, 'Who were those weird-looking guys anyway? Did they take him? Or did Mike get away?'

Shaking his head, Keno hoped for the later and continued on towards Bleecker Street.

* * *

Tears came into Michelangelo's eyes as he lay against the smooth cold metal of the semi's floor. The humans that had abducted him were all around him now, some were standing and leaning over while others were kneeling or squatting beside him.

"Man alive, what is it?" asked one of the juniors. Intrigued by the query, the commander pulled out a clipboard from its slot on the wall and began flipping through its pages.

"Doofus," said another of the men, "_Look_." Mikey's anxiety level rose dramatically as he was grabbed by the edge of his shell and rolled over. "See here?" said the man, poking Mikey's boney carapace, "It's got a shell. So it's probably some kind of turtle."

"He's right." said the ops leader, "It's a turtle, or rather some kind of mutated variant."

"Oh yeah?" The junior wrinkled up his nose and stood. "Well I think it's freaky looking."

"_Freaky_?" spouted another of the men, "I think 'e looks cool!"

"Cool?!" scoffed the youngest of the juniors, "Man Ross, you're so whack!"

"Oh _yeah_?" the man snorted, "Well some of us actually have an appreciation for that which is cool Jay!"

Mikey grit his teeth; he found the humans' difference of opinion annoyingly irrelevant. He hated being surrounded by them, getting poked and ogled like some kind of circus sideshow freak. But then —and here Mikey paused— perhaps that _was_ all he was to them…

Mikey took a deep breath as the humans continued to chatter. The muscles in his body had stopped spasmodically twitching a few minutes before, and now he felt very tingly; he flexed his fingers out and then back into a fist.

"_Man_," said a blonde-haired guy, getting the attention of some of his fellows, "Check out its muscle tone!"

Mikey tensed breathlessly as his leg was seized and lifted. "No..!" he blurted at once, and gave a weak kick, "Let go! Leave me alone!"

The blonde quickly released his grip. And the entire ops team fell silent.

Mikey could feel their surprise and sudden tension, and choose to ignore it. 'Gotta, get – up!' He got his hands out to each side, managing to bring one of his legs forward, and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees.

The ops team immediately fell back, raising their guns. "No! Stand down!" shouted their commander, and went towards the terrapin. He landed right down on Michelangelo's back, causing the young turtle to yelp as he was knocked flat against the floor.

"No!" Mikey cried as the man proceeded to try and hold him down, "Get off me!" He started squirming wildly.

"Quick!" barked the ops leader, "Get some restraints!"

"Great Caesar's ghost–!" sounded Jay, eyes wide in shock, "It IS talking!"

"Don't just stand there!" shouted the commander, "Get its arms and legs!"

The team responded, instantly coming down on the turtle from every angle. Mikey moaned sharply, grunting and fighting as his limbs were seized and held fast to the floor.

"Where are those restraints?!" growled the commander.

"Here!" replied one of the men, hustling forward; zip-tie cuffs were quickly handed out. And Michelangelo despaired, for his struggles did little good as his arms were brought up onto his shell and his wrists, cinched tightly together; the same was done with his ankles.

"Why?" he wailed to the men, "Why are you guys doing this?! Who are you anyway?! _What're you gonna do with me?!"_

"_Man_," hissed Jay, "Make it stop _talking_! It's freaking me out!"

"You're such a baby." snapped Ross.

"I don't like it either." said another man, and his words were swiftly echoed by many more members of the team. The ops commander frowned. "It shouldn't be talking!" Jay insisted.

Michelangelo glared up at the junior. "Oh yeah?!" he barked, "Well the same goes for you – _double_ pal!"

Jay's eyes widened; he couldn't believe he'd just been insulted by a creature that shouldn't have been able to rebuttal in the first place. The junior made to go forward, but was held back by another member of the group.

"_Whoa_ there cowboy. Look," said the man and turned, opening a small metal cabinet on the wall; he pulled out a syringe bottle. "This actually isn't the first talking animal I've seen. So, if it'll make you _feel_ better, I can just inject three cc's of tribusonol into its larynx. That'll paralyze its vocal cords for a good long while."

Mikey's eyes widened starkly.

"_I don't think so_." interjected the commander, "Mr. Adelton wants this– _turtle_ delivered to him in the exact same condition we found it. That means we're not going to mess with it – AT ALL."

"But it shouldn't be talking!" Jay kept insisting, "It's giving me the puking creeps! I don't want to hear it!"

"_Oh_, just suck it up!" snorted Ross. He and Jay glared at each other.

The ops leader sighed heavily. "Look, if it's bothering you _that_ much, we can put a muzzle on it or something. I think we had one left over from the Hanson mission. It should be about the right size. Go get it."

Jay pushed passed Ross and went towards the storage bay. Michelangelo growled fiercely and threw himself into a wild struggle against his bonds.

"Whoa!" said the ops leader, quickly directing his men towards the turtle, "Don't let it hurt itself."

Mikey was swiftly restrained, and he growled, looking up at the commander. "You still haven't told me who you are! Why'd you come after me? Who's this Adelton guy?!"

The men were looking at each other as the turtle spoke; a few had seen talking animals before, most hadn't. The commander however, took everything in stride and cleared his throat. "Mr. Adelton is a client of ours, you'll meet him in a little while. As for who we are, well, we're all former military. Anyone can hire us to do anything. And Mr. Adelton hired us to capture you."

Mikey's face creased. _"Why?"_

The ops leader shook his head. "You'll have to ask him that yourself. We don't like to ask questions. We prefer simply to get the job done."

Jay returned. "_Ugh_, will you guys stop talking to it!" He approached the pinioned terrapin, and as he did, one of the men keeping Mikey still immediately put his hand atop Mike's beak and pushed it down against the floor.

"_Mmgh_!" sounded Mikey, trying to pull his head back into his shell.

"Sorry about this," said the commander, "But most of my men find your ability to speak unnerving. So I'm afraid you'll have to stay muzzled until we've completed delivery."

'_Delivery_!' thought Mike, 'Now I know how a pizza feels!'

With his head seized and prevented from retracting, Mikey then felt a man get on his back. Having once wrangled a gator, the man grabbed the young turtle's beak from each side and angled his head up, allowing Jay to shove the muzzle down around his mouth. Mikey winced, groaning sharply as the muzzle was secured with two straps behind his head.

As soon as the men released him, Mikey wildly shook his head; the muzzle was very tight, and the most uncomfortable thing he had ever had the displeasure of wearing. He shook his head again, squirming in discomfort. 'Oh man,' thought Mikey, '_Oh man!_ I wish I was home! I wanna go home!'

"Come on," prompted the commander, "Let's leave the turtle. We'll be on the road for a while, and leaving it alone is probably the best way to get it to calm down."

Most of the men nodded and moved into the mid-section of the semi where several captains-chairs had been bolted to the floor along each side. As the men settled down to chat, only the commander remained behind.

He watched Mikey squirming and grunting on the floor. "Don't get too wild back here," he warned, gaining Mike's attention, "Or we'll have to tie you down. Mr. Adelton wants you delivered undamaged, and I'm going to see to it that that's carried out."

Mikey almost frowned, but set his chin down against the floor and ceased to fidget. The ops leader nodded and took a step backward, hitting a button along the wall. A mechanical drone issued forth, and Mikey lifted his head as several plexiglass panels then swung out from the walls, rolling together in a line to form a see-through barrier between him and the humans.

The commander stared for a moment longer before turning away and joining his crew. Mikey tensed and rolled onto his side. He pulled hard against the ties holding him; thankfully, he always wrapped his wrists and ankles, a fact which was now allowing him to put more effort behind his struggles.

Still, try as he might, the zip-ties wouldn't budge an inch. Mikey let out an exasperated groan and winced, for lying on his side meant the edge of his carapace was digging into his arm.

He rolled back onto his plastron with a moan. 'What's gonna happen to me?' he wondered fearfully, 'What's this guy Adelton want with me?' Mikey's mind began to fill with every kind of horrible thought. Was this Adelton some kind of scientist eagerly waiting to take him apart? Or was Adelton a freakish gourmand who now salivated in anticipation of the biggest pot of turtle soup he would ever eat?

'No!' thought Mike, fiercely shaking his head. He turned over and managed to sit up. Momentarily relieved that he could at least sit upright, Mikey's eyes then darted up, looking all around the rear of the semi. There were a few small lights glowing high along the walls, but they didn't look like they went to anything, at least not that Mike could see.

Glancing over his shoulder through the transparent barrier, Mikey saw that all the control panels and switch boxes were in the mid-section where the men were. 'Figures.' he thought to himself, and sighed.

That's when Mike saw some movement out of the corner of his eye: he glanced over, seeing that one of the men was peering in at him — it was the man called Ross.

Michelangelo blinked, recalling that, of all the men, Ross seemed to have been the one who liked him the most. Mikey's baby blue eyes became big and round as he presented the man with his very best puppy-dog face.

Startled by the turtle's suddenly endearing countenance, with eyes that appealed almost painfully for deliverance, Ross found it impossible to continue looking and quickly averted his gaze. Mikey's heart sank at this. Looking saddened by the turtle's plight, Ross glanced at him once more and turned away.

Dejected, Mikey lowered his face. He glanced over at the rear door again, frowning. 'Shoot,' he thought, 'Even if I _could_ get that thing open and hop out, assuming I didn't get run over by a car, how would I get away? It's not like rolling and hopping would get me very far!' He glanced down at his bound ankles; he curled his hands into fists, feeling the pressure of the tie around them. 'If I could just get these things off!'

Mikey immediately threw himself into a fierce, violent struggle against his bonds, kicking and jerking and banging about until a man raised his voice, alerting the others to his action.

Mikey ceased struggling as soon as they came in. Two men immediately got down on each side of him and held him in place. Mikey tried to calm down but his breath was labored and difficult to catch considering he couldn't open his mouth.

"I was afraid of this." the commander sighed, "Get the tie-down straps. We can't have this happening again."

"Mm-mm!" moaned Mikey, shaking his head at the ops leader.

The man frowned in return. "I told you what would happen if you got wild." he pointed out.

Realizing there was nothing he could do, Mikey let his chin thump down against the floor; his brow knitted, throat tightening as tears started coming into his eyes. He started crying...

Quite soon Michelangelo had three straps running across him: one stretched over his legs, one over his back and the last one over the back of his neck which prevented him from lifting his head off the floor. Tears glistened along the turtle's eyelashes, and ran down, soaking into his orange mask.

The commander let his crew know they could go back to what they'd been doing. All but one did; Ross stood beside the open plexiglass panel, looking unsettled about the turtle's situation. Ross's leader got down on one knee to check that each strap had been properly secured into the hooks running low along the walls.

Eventually he stood and back-stepped until he was right beside Ross. "That ought to hold him 'til we get there."

"Yeah," snorted Ross, "Maybe a little too well."

"Huh?"

"I was just thinking that none of this would've been necessary if we'd have just sedated him from the get-go."

"I was thinking the same thing." stated the commander, with a sigh, "But we were given explicit instructions: there were to be no injections of any kind. In fact we're not to give it anything at all."

Ross snuffed in disbelief. "What? So you mean even if it was hungry or thirsty, we couldn't even do that?"

The ops leader shook his head sadly. "Nope, 'fraid not. Adelton wants it as-is upon receipt."

Ross muttered something about Adelton's intelligence and turned, leaving the rear section of the semi. The commander took one last look at the forlorn terrapin before exiting through the open panel and shutting it after him.

At this point, Mikey began to sob, for now he knew he could not escape. Soon he would be delivered into the hands of a total stranger whose motives and plans for him were unknown; this filled Michelangelo with dread. He breathed, and wept, and waited.

–—–

An hour passed, the most interminable hour Mikey had ever lived through. He had tried to meditate the way he knew Leo would do, but he wasn't very skilled at it, and therefore could not get his mind off the unknown fate that awaited him.

The only thing he knew for sure was that the semi had travelled quite a distance in that hour, which meant he was no longer in New York City. What Mikey couldn't know was that he wasn't even in the same state anymore.

And still the truck drove on and on; the whirring sound of its spinning tires etching itself permanently into the young turtle's brain. Michelangelo just wanted it to stop.

Not being able to move was maddening; he squirmed and fidgeted, but could do little else. 'How much farther do we have to go?!' he wondered irately, and then suddenly stopped. 'What am I _saying_?' thought he, 'I don't want to get there! I want to go home!'

He slammed his eyes shut as the anxiety continued to amass in his chest. 'What if they end up killing me?' he thought, 'I'll never see my family again! My brothers, my father! OH Donnie, I'm sorry I yelled at you! I'm sorry I was being such a jerk!'

The truck's gears suddenly shifted, and the engine hummed an octave lower. Mikey's eyes widened; having become so very familiar with the drone of the semi over the past hour, Michelangelo knew immediately that they were slowing down.

The gears shifted down again, and the truck turned, first one way, then another. Mikey was aware that his heart was pounding now, so much so it seemed almost as loud as the guttural roar of the semi-truck.

Eventually the truck slowed dramatically, and with the absence of the sound of traffic, Mikey realized just how far from the city he was. 'Where am I?!' he wondered wildly, 'Where've they brought me?!'

That's when Mike caught sight of his human captors — they were rising from their chairs; a few of them stretched, but the rest came towards him. That's when Mikey knew they had arrived. His eyes became round and staring; he would have shrunk back into his shell if he could have.

Finally, the truck came to a complete stop. The plexiglass barrier was rolled away, and the straps holding Mikey down were removed; Mike found this to be only a small relief. The back was then unlocked and opened. The cool air of the night rushed into the stuffy interior, making Michelangelo shiver.

Mikey was startled when the humans abruptly took hold of his legs and bent them back to such a degree that his heels were touching his rump; the men then bound the zip-ties around his wrists and ankles together using a third tie. Mike grunted sharply, wondering why they were doing this.

Then there came a rattling sound, as of hard plastic wheels against pavement. Mike turned his head, suddenly catching sight of a man approaching who was decidedly not with the paramilitary group. He was dressed like a butler except he was missing a long black coat; still, his dress shirt was white, and his vest and pants were black – he even had on a black bow tie. He was pushing a table-cart, and the ops leader was with him.

They rolled the tall table-cart right up to the back of the semi; Mikey glanced at it, then at all the humans surrounding him. "Alright," said the commander, "Let's get it over onto the cart."

Michelangelo tensed as several hands grasped the edges of his shell. He was lifted from the floor of the semi and passed from those within the truck to those standing on the cement-covered drive below. "Okay, easy does it. _Careful_."

There was a definite clang as Mike's plastron suddenly came down hard against the surface of the mobile table. "Hey, I said _easy!"_ snapped the commander. The men handling the turtle looked frightfully embarrassed, for indeed, they'd almost dropped the terrapin.

The footman, in white and black, gripped the cart's long bar-handle and turned the mobile table around. The commander stayed beside the footman as he then proceeded to push Mikey towards a figure standing at the crest of a short flight of steps. The turtle's eyes suddenly locked onto this person; it was a well-dressed older man. Everything about him screamed class; his clothes were expensive and so was his house, which was the next thing that caught Mikey's eye.

Mike's eyes widened at the sight of the man's mansion; it was massive, its façade a deep maroon. Mikey's gaze snapped back to the man — this _had_ to be Adelton.

The footman pushed the cart to the foot of the steps. The well-dressed man glanced down at a newspaper he was holding, then at Michelangelo, then back again; he did this several times before smiling. He promptly folded the paper and pushed it inside his inner jacket pocket. "I see you were successful." said he.

The man's voice sounded cultured, his tone and inflection having been perfected many years ago in some well-to-do boarding school. He came to stand beside the cart and looked down at his latest acquisition. Mikey blinked up at the man worriedly.

"Indeed we were, Mr. Adelton." stated the ops leader, then glancing at another footman standing at the top of the steps; there was a large briefcase in the servant's hands.

Mikey tensed severely as Adelton reached out, placing a hand on his smooth green head. "My, my, you're a fine looking one." spake he; he put his other hand against Mike's cheek and applied a little pressure, enough to prompt Mikey to look at him. "Yes, quite fine indeed." Mike shut his eyes, a slight moan escaping his throat.

Adelton stood straight again and motioned to the footman atop the steps. "You and your men have done a fine job Cmdr. Earkok. I must admit that I am more than pleased with the results of your work." The briefcase was brought forward and presented to the ops leader; the footman opened it and a grin spread across the commander's face. "I hope that we can continue with such excellent business transactions in the future." said Adelton.

Commander Earkok ran his thumb up against the edge of a wad of green bills, letting each bill flap down against the next in that wonderful timber that only paper currency can produce. He smiled over at the older man. "_Indeed_, sir. Have you need of any other operations attended to, don't hesitate to call us."

"Quite." replied Adelton.

The commander then shut the briefcase and turned, letting loose a sharp whistle to his men. "Let's move!" he barked. The ops team quickly scrambled inside the truck; as Earkok reached the back of the semi, his men reached down, lifting both him and the briefcase up inside. The rear door snapped shut.

Adelton watched as the semi backed down his drive; the truck then turned, and drove away, disappearing amongst the many trees. Cultured Mr. Adelton smiled and faced his footmen.

"Take the turtle downstairs, and see that it is promptly sealed inside the Decontamination Vault. Understood?" The footmen nodded. "Good. I'll be down later." said Adelton, and trotted back up the steps to his immense home.

Mikey growled and started squirming; now he understood why he'd been hogtied — if he hadn't been, he surly would have kicked both footman with the kind of fury only a ninja could deliver.

Still, in spite of all of Mikey's wishes, there was nothing he could do. The footmen rolled the table-cart 'round to the side and up to a set of doors which parted, revealing a service elevator. Mike's heart sank as he was rolled inside and watched as the doors shut; the elevator descended.

Mikey's mind was racing, thinking over everything that'd just happened. Quite honestly he didn't think Adelton looked like a scientist, and, although he didn't look like a glutton either, Mikey still couldn't rule out the possibility of him being a connoisseur of rare and sumptuous delicacies.

Mike hated even thinking about that possibility, but think was all he _could_ do for verily his destiny was no longer his to control.

* * *

**8O...! Oh my! Mikey's in the soup now! (Yes, that's a figure of speech, meaning he's in a _bad_ situation.)  
****But will this bad situation get worse? Or better? And how will Mike's brothers react when they find out what's happened to him?  
Stay tuned for Chapter 3!**


	3. Bits & Pieces

**Hello there! And welcome to Chapter 3! If you'd like notices on my progress as I write each upcoming Chapter, just follow me on Twitter at: ** DuelistofRose

**Just know, I also periodically Tweet my favorite quotes! ^^  
Anyway, enjoy what follows! And thanks for reading!**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Bits & Pieces**

Keno pulled up to the old church that stood abandoned along the avenue. The neighborhood was quiet, desolate; Keno switched off his scooter's engine and rose to his feet, slowly at first. He glanced around before approaching the old sanctuary, looking rather unsettled as he caught sight of the centuries-old cemetery next door. Keno quickly looked away, bypassing the main door of the church, which was boarded up, and headed 'round to the side.

He moved over the long grass, pushing passed the hedges overgrown with weeds, and continued along the side of the church, trying not to stumble in the dark. He came finally to the small door at the rear. It was locked, but Keno more or less expected it would be. He looked up and around 'til his eyes alighted on a little camera hidden among the ornate stonework; its little red light flickered on as his movements caught its sensor.

"Don!" he said, and gave a brief wave, "I've gotta talk to you guys! Look, something's happened. At least I think something's happened. I mean, I don't know for sure. Can you just let me in?"

The door opened a minute later, and Leonardo looked out. "Keno!" he said, "Come in! Quick." The young man entered and Leo glanced briefly around to make sure no one had seen them.

"Why is it so dark?" quizzed Keno, trying to look round the tenebrous room he had come into.

"Generally," began Leo, bolting the door after him, "We try to keep anyone from getting curious about this place. A light shining out into the night might get someone's attention, and we'd prefer not to have anyone come snooping around."

"Oh. That's actually pretty smart."

Leo smiled and took Keno's arm in a gentle but firm grip, leading him 'round the corner into the church's old kitchen. There, he flicked on the lights. "So," asked the turtle in blue, turning to face the human, "What is it? Don said you were saying something had happened?"

Keno's face creased to a great degree as it was going to be hard to describe what he'd seen less than an hour ago in the parlor's back alley. "Well, Mike came to Roy's to get some pizzas but he forgot the money."

"He did?" Leo blinked.

"Yeah but, that's _not_ the point." Keno looked frustrated with himself, "The point is there were some guys in the alley that had him cornered."

Leonardo's eyes widened. "_What_?"

"Yeah, I don't know! There were these military-looking guys, and some of them were on the roof. And they all had guns! And Mike was waving for me to go back inside before they saw me."

"Wha–! They had guns?! Okay _wait a sec_," Leo was trying to catch on as fast as he could, "You're saying some guys with guns cornered Mikey in the alley behind Roy's?"

Keno perked up, pleased that Leo was understanding. "Yeah!"

"Well what happened?!"

"That's just it," sighed Keno, "I don't know. You see, when I came back out, they were all gone, those guys, _and_ Mike. So I don't know _what_ happened!"

"You didn't see _anything_?"

"No. My boss was yelling at me, like usual. And by the time I got back outside to see if Mike needed help, he was gone. And so were they."

Leo spun immediately from the black-haired pizza boy and darted over to the intercom Donnie had installed in the wall by the old dumbwaiter. "Don! Raph!" he called into the receiver, "Guys! Get your shells up here! We've got trouble!"

* * *

The Decontamination Vault was not small, nor was it incredibly large. It was a room where the walls, floor and ceiling were all covered in sheet metal, and for the most part the room was empty.

To one side there was a metal platform, only a few inches high, with tall glass panels all around to enclose it; and, behind those walls of glass, lay Michelangelo. Adelton's footmen had deposited him there and departed without removing his bonds. This both surprised and worried Mike for why should a prisoner, secured inside a holding cell, be left bound?

Mikey couldn't even begin to guess what they intended to do to him, and he lay upon the platform struggling vainly for a good long while. But being hog-tied meant Mike couldn't pull with his arms without hurting his ankles, and couldn't pull with his legs without really hurting his wrists; there was no way to gain any leverage against his bonds.

Mikey's eyes suddenly widened as a groaning gurgle came from his abdomen, and he cringed as he felt a sharp stab of pain in his empty stomach. He moaned. It seemed like ages since he'd last eaten; already he felt sick with hunger. He had been hungry since before leaving the Lair, which is why he'd gone to see Keno in the first place – this meant food had been absent from the young turtle's stomach for quite a while.

Mikey never liked the way he felt when he didn't eat; whenever he was forced to go hours without drinking or eating, even just a snack, he would start to feel sick and even get headaches. Indeed, Mikey had one now.

'So hungry,' he thought, woefully, 'So _hungry_..!' He moaned in his defeat, feeling starved, tired, scared, and altogether miserable; he closed his eyes. 'I wonder what my bros are doing. Do they even know I'm gone? Did Keno go and tell them what happened?'

Mikey tried to take in several deep breaths as he knew his father would instruct him to do. He could hear a slight hiss in the room, from the air that was being constantly cycled from one side of the Vault to the other through vents near the ceiling; aside from that there were no other sounds to be heard – at least on the outside.

On the inside Michelangelo could hear his heart thumping steadily; his head was hurting, and he felt ill as his stomach implored him to feed it. Mikey pulled his hands into fists. 'Why am I here?!' he cried in his mind, 'Seriously, this guy didn't go through all the trouble of kidnapping me just to dump me here, and starve me–!'

Mikey's eyes opened as a horrid thought suddenly came to mind. He suddenly remembered watching a movie where a man who was having a tough time with a wild horse had deprived the animal of food and water in order to make the job of breaking it that much easier. '_No_…'

Michelangelo was filled with sudden horror. 'No, no! That _can't_ be what Adelton's doing to me! It _can't_! Please, no!' But wasn't that exactly what Mike remembered hearing Earkok and his men talking about? They were told not to give him anything, not food or water, or even shots to calm him. 'It can't be true!' Mikey felt despair taking hold of him.

But all of these thoughts and conclusions were suddenly dispelled from Mike's mind as the doors to the Decontamination Vault emitted a pressurized hissed; the orange masked turtle gasped in his throat and raised his head. As the doors slid apart, a man in a long white lab coat entered the room.

Everything inside Michelangelo came to a screeching halt; he didn't move, or breathe, or even blink — he only stared wide-eyed and fearful as the man's unfamiliar gaze settled on him.

"Hmm," the man tittered; the ends of his white coat swayed as he approached Mikey's enclosure. The man's face was long and narrow, and his eyebrows were thick and black; his hair was short and close to his head, and though it was dark it was also beginning to gray along the sides.

The man came, setting down a large black duffle bag he'd been carrying. Kneeling on one knee beside the glass, the man peered in at the bound terrapin. "Well, I must say I've never seen a chelonian quite like you. This should be most interesting."

Mike swallowed with difficulty; he wanted to get away. The sound of footfalls issued near the parted doors, and Mikey's nervous eyes darted over, alighting on Adelton and another larger man with raven hair.  
"Really Victor," stated Adelton, in a scolding tone, "You shouldn't keep these doors open any longer than they need to be. It makes the Vault's filtration system have to work that much harder!"

"Yes, yes," replied the man in the lab coat, "I'm ready to begin."

Adelton sighed at how dismissive his associate was being. "Go ahead Waldorf." said he, directing the man behind him to join Victor. As Waldorf approached, Mikey could see he was a _very_ big man, not only in height but also in brawn.

At the flick of a switch, the foremost panel of glass, separating Michelangelo from the humans, suddenly descended into the floor. Then, Waldorf came towards him, drawing from his belt a very big knife; every muscle in Mikey's body went rigid.

The man knelt and reached out, causing the turtle to moan sharply as he was pulled closer. But even as Mikey trembled in his grasp it was apparent Waldorf meant the turtle no harm. Indeed, this was proven the moment Mike let out a startled grunt as each tie binding him was severed. The feeling of being free was almost a shock to Mike considering he'd been bound in the same horrid position for several hours.

Momentarily relieved, Mikey brought his arms forward, moaning at the sudden soreness, for indeed, he was very stiff. But even as he tried to move, Waldorf suddenly grabbed his legs and turned him over into his back. "Mm?!"

Mike instinctively grabbed at the muzzle on his face, for he wanted to speak and breathe freely; but he did this without thinking, and quickly realized he should've been kicking instead, for Waldorf was already pulling a thick black strap around his ankles. '_No_!'

Mikey immediately tried to kick in retaliation, but Waldorf was no stranger to subduing animals. Having already secured Mike's ankles together, he reached out with his enormous hands and caught hold of the turtle's arms.

"Mm_hmph!_" cried Mikey, as the massive wall of a man then yanked him forward, catching him in an almost crushing hug.

"Shhhhh…" coaxed Waldorf, holding Mikey's head close to his chest, "It's okay. You're okay." He gave the turtle's head several caring strokes. "No one wants to hurt you. Just calm down."

Mikey's eyes became extremely wide – was this giant of a man actually trying to comfort him? Mike could hear the man's heart pounding like his own; he could feel Waldorf's strength encompassing him and he realized, with a shudder, that the man was _not_ using all of it; indeed, Waldorf was capable of even greater displays of power.

Mikey shut his eyes; he didn't know what to think, and didn't know what to do. He only knew he wanted to go home. But he was tired, and hungry, and tired of _being_ hungry — and he was tired of being afraid.

Waldorf felt the young turtle starting to relax in his arms; he smiled to himself. "That's it," he encouraged. He waited for Mikey to relax completely before allowing him to lean away. Mikey looked up at Waldorf with the saddest, most forlorn expression in the whole world.

Indeed, the look on Mikey's face was so intense it startled Waldorf. "_Oh_, my little green friend! There's no need to look so _sad_." He patted Mike's head. "I know the day's been rough for you. But everything's going to be all right."

Mikey blinked as he stared into the man's face; Waldorf had a trimmed horseshoe moustache, and a strong angular jaw that sported a large tuft of hair at the point of his chin. This is what stood out, but as Mike looked up into the man's emerald-colored eyes, he saw a deep well of sincerity; he didn't know why, but he felt like he could trust him.

"_Ahem_." came the voice of the one called Victor. Waldorf glanced back at the man in the lab coat, seeing that the scientist's arms were folded and that he was now tapping his foot.

"Ah," uttered Waldorf, turning his attention back to Mikey. He took both of the turtle's forearms in one hand and pulled out another black strap.

"_Mm_!" cried Mikey, trying to jerk away, but he couldn't. Mike's eyes darted up to Waldorf's face. '_Why_?!'

Waldorf smiled apologetically. "_Yes_, I'm sorry. It's only temporary, I assure you." he tipped his head in the direction of Victor, "Just while Dr. Falco does what he does best. Don't worry, he won't hurt you."

Mikey swallowed, his stomach giving a slight quiver as he glanced over at the doctor – he didn't care _who_ they were, men in white coats were never a good thing. 'Except for maybe ol' doc Perry.' thought he, 'But who knows what happened to him.'

Waldorf set Mikey down on the floor on his stomach. The young turtle then winced as the two black straps that had been put around his ankles and wrists were fitted down into clamps moored in the floor. Michelangelo's hands curled into fist, his breath quickening. 'What're they gonna do?! _What're they gonna do?!_'

Waldorf moved aside as Victor Falco then came forward. The scientist bent, seating himself along the edge of the shallow platform; he reached for his duffel bag yet paused abruptly, and instead turned to eye the turtle that lay stretched out before him.

Mikey could feel him staring, and lifted his head, eyes narrowing as he turned to look at the scientist. Falco smiled, but Mikey didn't find the smile in the least bit friendly. Victor reached into his bag and withdrew a pair of latex gloves, which he quickly pulled onto his hands. The next thing he took out was a blood collection needle and ten clear tubes, each with a different colored lid. Mikey's eyes widened and he quickly looked away.

Feeling an unexpectedly tender spot in his heart toward the terrapin, Waldorf stepped around on Mikey's other side and sat down beside him. Michelangelo looked up at him, his blue eyes shining with fear.

"Shhh," he said, trying to succor the turtle; he gently pet Mikey's head, "It's all right." This he said, even as Falco proceeded to tie a tourniquet around Mikey's arm, just above his elbow. Mikey stiffened as cold alcohol was swabbed over the vein in his arm; he could only guess what was coming next, for he'd never had a needle used on him before.

Indeed, for while Leo and Donnie were the main ones responsible for patching him up, they certainly weren't veterinarians; and while needles weren't hard to come by in the big city, _sterile_ ones certainly were.

Falco tapped the vein in Michelangelo's arm a moment before piercing into it with his needle. Mikey flinched, grunting, and almost turned his head toward the doctor, but Waldorf quickly caught the edge of his beak and drew his attention back toward him.

"It's okay," Waldorf emphasized, "The good doctor just needs to take some of your blood so that he can run some tests. Once he does this, we'll know how to properly take care of you."

Mikey peered up at the large, raven-haired man. 'Take care of me?'

Mikey's crimson blood snaked up through the thin tubing and into the vacutainer tube in Falco's hand. Minutes went by as the doctor drained from Mike's body a whole ten tubes full of blood, over 50 milliliters, and lined them all up in a neat red row along the edge of the platform.

"Well," said Victor, finally pulling the needle from Mikey's arm, "That should do for that." He placed a small ball of cotton over the puncture mark, and held it in place as he looked back at Adelton. "Now for the biopsy." he moved his eyes back to the turtle, "From which area do you think would be best to remove the tissue?"

Mikey's eyes widened, and his eyes darted toward both the doctor and Adelton. "Well,"Adelton harrumphed, "Make sure it's from someplace inconspicuous. You forget, I'm attending the Exposium in three days. And I _won't_ have my newest acquisition looking flawed with bits of him missing."

"Ah yes," said Falco, rising and turning to face Adelton, "Your annual show-and-tell. You still attend that?"

Adelton snorted with a laugh. "Of course! That's one of the reasons for collecting such rare and amazing animals — getting to show them off!" Adelton's grayish-blue eyes glittered with pride.

Victor Falco sighed, shrugging. "Whatever bakes your cake Ed." He turned back, kneeling once again, and began rummaging through his bag; he eventually produced a container for the tissue sample he intended to take, as well as a small jar of topical anesthetic.

"Anyway," continued Falco, "I suppose an inconspicuous area would be somewhere along the shell, which I wouldn't mind taking a sample from either." He reached out, fingering the edge of Mike's carapace a moment before following it along to Mikey's shoulder. He gripped the turtle's muscular deltoid before sliding his fingertips forward to where Mikey's skin met the bone of his shell. Mikey clenched his teeth: he did _not_ like this man touching him.

"It shouldn't be too obvious if I take it from around here, just under the lip of the carapace."

"_Fine_." grumbled Edward Adelton, "Just don't dawdle. I want to get him cleaned up as soon as possible. I still have to move him over to the Holding Area."

"My, _you_ sound grumpy." commented Victor, as he popped open the jar of anesthetic salve, "It's been a long day for me too, you know."

Dr. Falco rubbed salve over the area he intended to take the sample from, causing Michelangelo to wince, for the salve was quite cold. "There," said Victor, smiling back at Edward as he put away the jar, "That should keep your chelonian from feeling too much."

The next thing Falco took from his bag – was a scalpel. Mikey moaned sharply at the sight of it, and began wildly tugging at his pinioned limbs.

"Whoa!" called Waldorf, putting his big hands down on Michelangelo, "Whoa their little friend! He's not going to hurt you!"

"Mm-_mm_!" protested Mike, shaking head. Tears sprang into Mikey's eyes again, and he jerked his face towards Falco once more, glaring intensely.

Victor Falco cocked an eyebrow, giving the turtle a crooked smile. "You know, you're rather a cute little thing when you're scared."

Mikey took in a quick hard breath, feeling suddenly very angry. Indeed, the comment made even Waldorf and Adelton frown. They listened as the turtle growled, and then watched him awkwardly wipe away his tears.

Falco gripped his scalpel in one hand, and the back of Mike's neck in the other. "Here," he said, shoving the terrapin's head down against the floor, "Hold its head down."

Waldorf hesitated to comply; already Mikey was fitfully squirming against his restraints, his distress all too apparent. Waldorf swallowed, and glanced over at his employer; Edward Adelton nodded with a measure of reluctance. With an inward sigh, Waldorf grudgingly complied and brought the weight of his thick muscular hands to bear on Mikey's head and neck. "I'm sorry little friend."

'Not sorry enough!' was Mike's mental retort; he was trembling now, for indeed, he _knew_ what scalpels were for. 'I wanna go home!' he cried inside, 'Please! _Father, Leo! Raph, Donnie!_ Come get me! Please come get me!'

The young turtle's thoughts of family were driven abruptly from his mind as Falco pushed the scalpel blade down into his skin. Mikey moaned sharply, lurching even though his movement was limited. This reaction surprised both Edward and Waldorf.

"Why did he jerk like that?" asked Waldorf, scowling at the man in the white lab coat. "Indeed!" barked Adelton, coming a step closer, "I thought you said he wouldn't feel any pain?"

"That's not what I said. And it's not the pain he's _reacting_ to." corrected Falco, maneuvering his blade around 'til he had cored out a tiny chunk of Mikey's flesh; he quickly scraped the chunk into its container. "His nerves have been numbed to the pain, but not to touch altogether. He can still feel."

Victor frowned as he realized he was beginning to refer to the turtle as 'he' instead of 'it.' Choosing to bypass this fact, Falco swiftly applied a little medicine to ebb the blood seeping from the small wound, and then used a strip of medical tape to pull it closed. Once this was done, he quickly cleaned up the blood that had already run down.

Waldorf looked down anxiously at the young turtle, wondering when he'd be able to take his hands away. Mikey only kept his eyes shut, waiting for all of it to be over.

"Anyway," said Victor, at last, "I'll just take a chip from the carapace, for good measure, and then I'll get out of your hair."

"Oh? And how are you going to go about that?" snorted Adelton.

"Why, with _this_ of course." Falco fished a dremel out of his bag; the tip of it was fitted with a small blade, and Victor used it to saw off a chip of Mike's carapace. This whole procedure had been hideous for Mikey for the buzz and vibration shivering through his spine had felt terrible.

"There we go." said Falco, quickly putting away his dremel; he held up the carapace chip like it was a prize. "Well, that should do it." he said, once he'd stored the sample away.

Waldorf quickly took his hands from Mikey; the orange-clad turtle raised his head slightly, trying to bring in steady breaths through his nose. Unfortunately, he now felt much worse.

With all the samples and equipment tucked safely away in his bag, Falco rose, slinging the duffel over his shoulder. "I'll have the test results by Tuesday."

"Well that's _good_," said Edward, with sarcasm, "Considering I'm leaving Wednesday with my animals."

Falco almost shrugged. "That's the best I can do on such short notice. But don't worry, you'll find out everything you need to know in order to deal properly with your chelonian." Victor headed for the doors, white coat swaying. "I'll see you later Ed." The doors parted, and Falco exited.

Adelton sighed. "If he wasn't so brilliant I'd probably…"

"He does seem rather cold, sir." commented Waldorf, releasing the clamps holding Michelangelo down.

"Yes, he never used to be like that. I can only imagine _teasing_ all those rats in his lab everyday has made him a bit calloused."

Mikey tried to lean up, but he felt suddenly nauseous and very weak. Indeed, not only had his strength been sapped by hunger but also the loss of blood, which was now being followed by the natural decline in energy that follows a rush of adrenaline.

Waldorf looked down, realizing Mikey didn't look too good. "Sir," he said, "I don't think a regular cleanse cycle would be the best thing for the turtle right now."

"Oh?" asked Adelton. Almost on cue, Michelangelo's stomach gave a vicious roar of pang, and Mikey moaned pitifully. "Oh my!" exclaimed Edward Adelton, "He's _hungry_, I hadn't realized—!"

"Verily! And with the blood Dr. Falco removed, it's probably taxing his system something awful! But, I'm afraid without those test results we won't know what he's deficient in." stated Waldorf, "Would a basic meal do?"

Adelton nodded. "I'd say we really don't have much of a choice right now. My turtle needs something in his system, and _something_ is better than nothing." Waldorf nodded. "But, skip the regular cleanse cycle you say?" Edward fingered his chin.

"Yes, I don't think it would exactly help right now. Might I purpose the Water Tunnel?"

Edward blinked, then smiled. "Oh yes! That should do nicely, for now. See, I _knew_ what I was doing when I hired you to be my Chief Handler."

Mikey winced as Waldorf turned him over and lifted him up into his burly arms. Mike squirmed, but was too ill to put up much of a fight. Forsooth, his head was throbbing with a dull ache and his mind felt numb; he couldn't even think anymore, just react.

Adelton moved to the fore wall of the Decontamination Vault, and opened another set of doors; he passed through them, followed by Waldorf. Michelangelo looked, and thought it was odd that they were bringing him into a small room that had nothing in it. But this wasn't entirely true.

Edward pulled a lever in the wall beside the doorway, and a mechanical hum issued from the walls around them. What Mikey saw happen next was half the floor start to roll away.

The sight of this was a little disorienting at first, for the orange clad turtle couldn't tell whether _they_ weremoving or_ it_ was. He felt dizzy and had to look away; Waldorf noticed this, and his face creased worriedly — he held Mike a bit tighter.

The floor continued to retract until it had disappeared into the wall, revealing a pool of water just beneath. When the mechanical hum clanked to a halt, Mikey looked back, eyes widening at the sight of the rippling liquid. It smelled fresh.

"Alright now," said Waldorf in a gentle tone, setting Michelangelo down by the water's edge. "You see the water?" he pointed and the turtle's eyes followed, "Okay, I'm going to take these bonds off you, then I'm going to slip you into the water. I know you're probably not feeling all that great, but all you have to do is swim down through to the other side. Okay? Then, once you've waited in the Wind Tunnel a bit, you'll see a door leading to the Holding Area. That's where you'll find food."

It was plain to see how Mikey perked up at the mention of eating; he'd waited so very long!

"Okay." Waldorf glanced back as his employer, "Mr. Adelton?"

"_Oh_, yes." said the older man, then exiting the room; this was for his own safety, as neither of them could be sure what Mikey would do once he was freed.

Quickly Waldorf unfastened the straps of that dreadful muzzle, and pulled it off Mikey's beak. Mike immediately sucked in a great lungful of air, and stuck out his tongue because, well, now he could; he exercised his jaw a moment before bringing his hands up around his beak to rub away the soreness.

"Alright, little friend," said Waldorf, turning Michelangelo towards the pool. Mikey looked a little reluctant, but complied nonetheless. He lowered his foot —the water was lukewarm— before dipping the lower half of his legs in; this prompted Waldorf to lift him and slip him down into the water.

This more or less startled the young turtle. He slid down through the water farther than he expected to, and realized the pool was much deeper than it looked from above. A muffled mechanical hum started up. Mike quickly looked around before tipping his head upward; he looked straight up through the surface of the rippling pool – and saw the hatch was rolling closed again.

Mikey felt a twinge of fear and had to stop himself from trying to swim back up towards the opening, for indeed he was being cut off from the surface. Burly Waldorf waved, then pointed in the direction Mike was to go. With an audible thud the hatch shut, sealing off the light the upper room had provided.

Mikey turned roundabout to get his bearings and realized the coolness of the water was actually making him feel a bit better, he was certainly more alert. As his gaze darted toward the bottom of the pool, he saw there were tiny lights on each side showing him the distance he had to swim — it wasn't very far.

He kicked forward, indulging in the wonderful range of motion he now had, the freedom to move, with no ties binding him. He actually smiled, even if only briefly. Verily, he wished he could remain under the water, even if only for a few minutes, just to have a moment to himself _away_ from his current situation. But he knew he couldn't; he was too exhausted, and too famished. And knew he'd only be able to eat if he came up on the other side.

He swam forward, finding the same kind of opening in the floor the other room had had. 'What're you going to do Mikey?' he asked himself as his head came past the surface of the water; he took a great gulp of air, and bobbed for a moment. 'What _are_ you going to do?'

He slowly crawled from the water, realizing he didn't feel very strong, and so took a moment to rest; he leaned forward with his hands against the floor, his legs folded beneath him. "Should've stayed home…" he muttered, then giving a sardonic chuckle at how stupid he'd been for leaving in the first place — and for what?

Mikey felt a soft vibration run through the metal floor beneath him, and looked to the side, seeing that this room also had a rolling hatch that came together with the half he was sitting on to form a complete floor. "Hmph."

Then the sound of an immense fan started up, and a great gust of air came blowing down around him; Mikey shut his eyes. The air pouring over him was warm, so he didn't feel at all chilled. 'This must be the Wind Tunnel that guy was talking about.' Michelangelo waited for the fan to stop, feeling the tails of his orange bandana-mask fluttering to  
and fro. Eventually the fan stopped, and he was dry. Then, after a few seconds, a panel opened in the wall opposite the pool hatch, and led to yet another room, except _this_ room was different. Mikey's eyes widened curiously, his eye brow cocked. He stood, a little unsteadily, and moved through the doorway.

* * *

**Author Notes:**

**Well, Mikey has a ****master**** now, a man who considers himself to be his _owner._ But the question remains: for how long? Only time will tell… **

**On thing's for sure, it's not gonna be easy for Raph, Leo and Don to figure out what has become of their baby brother. And they may ultimately end up having to sacrifice their own freedom just to find out where he's been taken. O.o **

**Who can say until we see it for ourselves... 8}**


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